Best Friends Forever
by CharlotteGraceTaylor
Summary: Clarke has been best friends with Octavia and Bellamy Blake for over a decade. But for Clarke and Bellamy, something more than friendship has been growing and strengthening over the years.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _Gatorade._

Bellamy stared at the text message that interrupted his reverie. Every day during his lunch break, he hid away in his office to do some recreational reading. In a way it was cathartic. Teaching mythology to a bunch of uninterested college kids day in and day out really took a toll on him; aside from the fact that most of those students only took his class to fill their credits, he knew he didn't have their respect. Having graduated only six months ago, his students were at most only 6 years younger than him and consequently regarded him more as a peer than as a professor. The number of young ladies knocking on his office door to ask for extra tutoring with insinuative winks and flirtatious giggles far outweighed the number of students who sought him out for real help.

 _Gatorade and saltines._

 _Gatorade and saltines and Coke._

Two more buzzes and he closed his book with a sigh. He picked his phone up and read the newest messages. A grocery list from his sister. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and snorted a silent chuckle.

 _I told you you'd get sick. Should've worn your coat like I told you. It's JANUARY, O._

Octavia was a grown woman, but he would always be her big brother and she would always be his responsibility. Their father walked out on them when they were too young to remember, and their mother worked her ass off to give them the best life she possibly could. But when Octavia was thirteen, their mother was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer. Bellamy started working at the library in the evenings and on weekends; when he graduated high school five months later, he got a promotion and a full-time position. After their mother died and a social worker tried to put Octavia into foster care, Bellamy took matters into his own hands. He met with an attorney, picked up a second job, and spent an entire weekend making repairs to both the inside and the outside of their house. The judge granted him custody, and he was able to take Octavia home. He was the only male figure in her life, as their mother chose to focus all of her energy and attention on them rather than dating, and so in a way he had always had a hand in raising her.

 _I'M not sick, jackass. Clarke is. If you'd rather come hold her hair back while she pukes, be my guest, and I'll run to Walgreen's._

But it wasn't just the two of them. Octavia's best friend Clarke had become a part of their family many years ago. The two girls had been friends since they met at a skating rink when they were ten years old. Clarke's mother had gotten hired as a surgeon at the county hospital, so she and her fiancé, Marcus, packed everything up and moved across the state to start their new lives as a family. Octavia had skated right over to Clarke, who'd been standing alone in the corner, and pulled her by her hand out onto the rink. They skated together all evening, and by the time Bellamy told Octavia to change back into her sneakers to go home, the girls had become best friends.

Over the years, Clarke and Octavia became inseparable. Playdates turned into sleepovers. Sleepovers gradually lengthened from one night, to two, to eventually a week or two at a time over summer vacation. They were together for the good, the bad, and the ugly. And by default, Bellamy was also there. The older the girls got, the closer three of them became. The day Clarke turned 18, she threw all of her belongings into the bed of her old pickup and moved into the Blake residence. She and her mother hadn't seen eye-to-eye for years, and naturally the Blakes, her _chosen_ family offered to take her in.

 _Shit. Is she okay? Is it the flu? Has she checked her temperature? I'll get something for a fever just in case. Better safe than sorry._

 _Relax, big bro. I have things under control here. Clarke's in good hands._

 _Octavia, just last week I heard you suggest that Jasper treat a head cold with Dulcolax._

 _That boy has always been full of shit._

Bellamy chuckled and slipped his phone into his pocket. Hearing students start to file into his classroom, he grabbed his lecture notes and headed out of his office for his last class of the day.

* * *

"Gatorade. Saltines. Coke. Gatorade. Saltines. Coke." Bellamy mumbled Octavia's list to himself as he walked through the store, and added a "check" into the list as he dropped each item into his basket. Halfway to the cash register, a sign by the pharmacy pronouncing that it wasn't too late to get a flu shot reminded him that he wanted to grab something for Clarke's potential fever.

"Too many options," he grumbled under his breath as he stared at an entire wall of cold and flu medications. A hundred different pills, liquids, teas, powders, and creams stared back at him. Fifteen minutes of reading packages and an internal debate about trying to get Clarke's advice later, Bellamy finally decided on a box of Tylenol Cold + Flu and some Theraflu tea. He also decided that once Clarke was better, she would be selecting a variety of over-the-counter medications to keep at the house for the next time one of them got sick. After all, she was the pre-med student.

* * *

"O," he called as he gently kicked the door shut behind him. One hand hung his keys on the hook by the door while the other hand deftly dropped his laptop bag onto the floor but kept the Walgreen's bag looped over two fingers.

"Shh!" Octavia came scurrying around the corner with a finger to her lips. "She's asleep. Poor girl's been sick as hell all day. She skipped class this morning."

That rang a note of concern in Bellamy. Clarke hadn't missed any school since the day he met her. Though if his face showed any worry, Octavia didn't notice. She was slipping her coat on and reaching for her purse on the entry table. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah," she said distractedly, digging through her purse to find her car keys. "Lincoln's making me dinner, but I'll be back after to help take care of Clarke so you can get some work done."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a half hug and told her to drive safe before she pulled the door shut behind her with a soft click. He kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen, grateful that his socks silenced the usual slapping sound of his feet hitting the tile floor. The bag rustled loudly in the silence of the house. He poured some of the Coke into a glass and left it sit on the counter to go flat.

* * *

Just over an hour later he glanced up at Clarke from his spot on the recliner, a finger holding his place in his book and his glasses perched on his nose. She was starting to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open and immediately the harsh lamplight assaulted her senses, causing her to groan and snap her eyes shut again.

"Sorry," Bellamy whispered as he leaned over to flick off the lamp. He stood up slowly, being careful to minimize the creaking from the old recliner. His book fell between the armrest and the cushion, the page he was on completely forgotten. Walking around the coffee table, he leaned down and felt Clarke's forehead with the back of his hand. "Definitely a fever," he muttered. "Headache. Body aches too, I'm guessing?"

Clarke grunted in response and threw her arm over her eyes. The only light in the room came from the setting sun peeking through the blinds, but it was still too much for her tired eyes. She heard Bellamy's soft footsteps retreating into the kitchen. Though she knew he was doing his best to keep quiet, the whisper of his jeans brushing against the kitchen floor sent an irritating pain through her ear and straight to the knot behind her eye.

"Take these," Bellamy whispered. She peeked through one eye to see her best friend had returned. He was holding a glass of water in one hand and offering her two small yellow caplets in the other.

"Thanks," she whispered, then tossed back the pills and chased them down with the water. She felt him lift her feet and slide down onto the end of the couch. "Miserable, Bell," she whispered moments before sleep claimed her again.

"I know, princess," he whispered back with a sigh. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over them, her ankles crossed and resting in his lap. He leaned his head back and watched her sleep for a few minutes before sleep claimed him as well.

* * *

He woke to a kick in his stomach as Clarke wrenched herself into a sitting position. Her head was nearly between her knees as she vomited into the trash can Octavia had grabbed from the bathroom and left beside the couch. Within seconds, Bellamy had pulled her hair away from her face and started rubbing soothing circles on her back.

When the dry heaves and post-vomit body spasms subsided, Bellamy leaned back into his corner so Clarke could lay down again. "Feeling any better?"

"Headache's gone." Her voice was raspy, but she was glad the sensitivity to light and sound was no longer a problem. "Just wish my stomach would settle now."

"I may be able to help with that." He stood slowly and gently laid her feet on the couch. He crossed into the kitchen with long, purposeful strides. "Flat Coke always works," he called over his shoulder.

Clarke sat up and took a couple deep breaths, hoping the movement wouldn't bring on another bout of vomiting. "Old wives' tale."

"I'd say homeopathic remedy. Old wives' tales typically don't have any truth to them. Flat Coke _always_ works." She took the glass from his hand and made a show of taking tiny sips, before he felt the need to remind her that 'it only works when you sip it.'

Clark snorted and rolled her eyes. "There's nothing homeopathic about Coke, Bellamy. And anyway, flat Coke is like a placebo. It's purely psychological."

"Then I'll just take that glass back and you can wait for your immune system to do the job itself." He reached out for the glass with no real intention of taking it from her, but she swatted his hand away just the same with a murderous glare in her eyes.

"You wanna die today, Blake?"

Bellamy chuckled and leaned back into his corner of the couch. "Get over here, Griffin. We should have enough time to watch an episode of _How the Universe Works_ before O gets home." He stretched his arm over the back of the couch and reached for the remote on the end table while Clarke snuggled into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and pulled the blanket over both of them.

It was one of their favorite shows, but even it was no match for Clarke's flu. The voices coming from the TV combined with the Tylenol that was still in her system lulled her to sleep before the first commercial break. Bellamy tilted his head to the side and peered down at his best friend. He wished there was more he could do to make her feel better. He always prided himself on how well he took care of his girls, but unfortunately the flu was just one of those things he couldn't protect them from.

Clarke twisted a little in her sleep, subconsciously trying to get closer to Bellamy, and Bellamy's body twisted to accommodate her without his mind even registering it. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and gently laid his cheek against the top of her head.

* * *

Octavia expected Clarke to still be asleep when she got home. She tiptoed through the entryway and peeked into the kitchen. She had expected Bellamy to be cleaning up from dinner, but she saw neither a dirty dish nor her brother. Walking past the living room to creep down the hallway and check their bedrooms, a mop of black curls on top of the couch caught the corner of her eye.

She was not surprised to see her brother and her best friend sleeping together with a forgotten docuseries droning on the TV. This was a regular occurrence in the Blake household. She wasn't even surprised to see them cuddling under the blanket Grandma Blake had made for Bellamy's tenth birthday.

Back in the kitchen, she scribbled _staying at Lincoln's tonight, pizza tomorrow on me xo O_ on a sticky note before tiptoeing back out the front door and locking it behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A steady wave of aromas drifting from the kitchen began to fill the air in the living room and roused Clarke from her sleep. There was very little light coming through the window blinds; Clarke figured the sun was just beginning to rise. As the fog of sleep cleared from her mind she registered that she was on the couch, wrapped in Grandma Blake's blanket. She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, letting the blanket fall into her lap.

She noticed immediately that she felt much better than she did yesterday. _Just a twenty-four hour thing, thank God_. She felt none of the vertigo or sensitivity that had plagued her since she awoke the previous day, and the nausea was nearly gone as well.

She pulled the blanket around her and ambled across the living room to lean against the kitchen doorway. Bellamy stood in front of the stove, tending to two frying pans. Taking note of the white wire dangling down from his ears and disappearing into the back pocket of his jeans, she knew he was immersed in another world.

She hopped onto a barstool at their kitchen island, careful not to trip on the blanket, and rested her chin in her hands. The toaster had slipped her notice on the other end of the counter and she started with a squeal when it popped. Bellamy whipped around, a spatula raised in his hand. It was so comical and just so _Bellamy_ that he was ready to defend her with a greasy spatula. She didn't even try to fight the laugh that bubbled to the surface.

"Clarke," Bellamy deadpanned. He tugged on the wire of his earbuds and wrapped it up around his phone.

"Yes, dear," she said through a giggle.

He let his lips turn up in a smile and playfully flicked her nose. "Seems you're feeling better."

Nodding, she hummed in agreement. "Almost back to normal. I think it's just a twenty-four hour bug. Where's Octavia?"

He tipped his head toward the fridge as he returned his attention to the pans on the stove. "Ah, shit," he mumbled, hurriedly turning off both burners.

Clarke slid off the barstool and walked over to the fridge. Her eyes skimmed over Octavia's note before she pulled the door open and grabbed a small bottle of orange juice. "Crispy and scrambled?" she guessed, shaking the orange juice. Admittedly it wasn't a difficult guess. Every time she or Octavia got sick, Bellamy made bacon and eggs for breakfast, and lunch was always tomato soup and grilled cheese. She reached in front of him and grabbed a small piece of bacon off the plate he was holding.

He lifted both plates into the air over her head and smirked at her. "Patience is a virtue, Clarke. Have I taught you nothing?" He had been smirking, but the smirk morphed into a genuine smile that let a peal of laughter escape him. Her frizzy hair was pulling free of a messy bun and sticking out all over. Her favorite baggy Ark U sweatpants were fraying at the bottoms. And she had once again stolen one of his tee shirts, because it would be a miracle if Clarke ever washed her laundry before literally every piece of clothing she owned was dirty. She looked a mess and she was ready to fight him. "You're awful feisty for someone who just cheated death."

If looks could kill, he would be halfway to the light at the end of the tunnel. She may have been glaring daggers at him, but the wrinkles forming in the corners of her eyes told him she was fighting a smile.

"I will start whining if you don't give me my plate," she warned, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I might even turn on the tears."

"Back to the couch, Griffin," he chuckled. "You've been up long enough." He heard her angry-sigh behind him as he grabbed two forks from the cutlery drawer and led the way back to the living room, knowing she would follow.

They each settled into a corner, Clarke's legs curled on the cushion between them, and Bellamy's feet kicked up on the coffee table. He handed a plate and fork to her, his own sitting on his lap. " _How the Universe Works_?" he suggested, knowing full well that he would be spending the day marathoning _Gilmore Girls_. He wouldn't exactly say he enjoyed the show, but if he were to be honest he couldn't say he hated it. It was just tradition when Clarke got sick. It had been a long time since she'd been _this_ sick, and who was he to mess with tradition?

"Gil-"

" _Gilmore Girls_. I know, I know," he cut her off with an amiable grin, already bringing the show up on Netflix.

* * *

Clarke loved this - the elusive lazy Saturday. Between both of their jobs and her school schedule, she and Bellamy didn't get days like this very often. But they both really took advantage of it whenever the chance came. Clarke would call in sick at the hospital, where she worked part-time as a Medical Assistant, and Bellamy would happily pay no mind to the laptop bag that was perpetually bursting at the seams with papers needing graded and lectures needing planned.

At some point between the second and third episodes of _Gilmore Girls_ Clarke found herself laying across the couch with her head in Bellamy's lap. "Feeling sick again?" she heard him ask, barely louder than a whisper.

"No," she answered as quietly. "Just a little tired." An unbidden yawn broke across her face, forcing her eyes shut, and she didn't bother to open them again.

Bellamy dropped his head back on the couch and closed his eyes as well, listening to Luke and Lorelai bantering on the television, and a vague thought comparing his and Clarke's friendship to Luke and Lorelai danced around the edges of his mind, just beyond his grasp. Without any conscious thought, his fingers found Clarke's hair and slowly, gently toyed with the strands that had pulled free of her bun until he fell into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

When Clarke woke up, she registered first that Bellamy was still asleep. She was curled up, her knees digging into the back of the couch and her face inches from Bellamy's stomach. She laid still, not wanting to wake him, and took a moment to appreciate her best friend.

For over a decade, he had been there whenever she needed him. When she fought with her mom, he was there. He answered the phone every single time she called, even in the middle of the night, and he let her vent to him. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she yelled. Sometimes they just sat in silence, and Clarke simply took comfort knowing he was on the other end of the line.

When she broke up with her boyfriend Wells right before the Homecoming dance her senior year of high school, Bellamy showed up at her front door wearing a tie and holding a corsage, both of which perfectly matched her dress. He waited in an extremely uncomfortable silence with her mother and Marcus while she ran upstairs to trade her pajamas for her dress.

She would always fondly remember when Bellamy and Octavia crashed Abby's wedding. Clarke stood in her place as Maid of Honor at the altar while Abby and Marcus exchanged vows. She saw her best friends sneak into the back of the church, and she knew they were there to give her moral support. They danced with her through the entire reception, and when it was all over they whisked her away to their favorite bar and got drunk with her until sunrise.

In her junior year of college, she found out her boyfriend Finn had been cheating on her. More accurately, he was cheating on his girlfriend of six years, Raven, and Clarke was the other woman. She had been out with Bellamy and Octavia one night when Octavia saw Finn with a dark-haired beauty. Long story short: Bellamy went home that night with sore knuckles, Finn went home with a black eye, and Clarke and Octavia went home having made a new friend.

But Bellamy was there for the good stuff, too. He signed up as chaperone when Clarke and Octavia when to France with their French Club. He was there when Clarke graduated high school as Valedictorian. He pulled some strings for her and Octavia when the college tried to enforce on-campus living their freshman year, and saved them thousands of dollars in room and board. He planned her a surprise party when she got hired at the hospital. "Bell, it's just a part-time Medical Assistant position," she had reminded him, to which he responded "It's the first step toward a full-time residency when you graduate med school."

Over the years, without even realizing it, she had gotten closer to Bellamy than she was to Octavia. Not to make light of her friendship with O; they were still as inseparable as they were when they were twelve. But she had opened herself up to Bellamy in ways she never did with Octavia. Even with O, she kept some walls up, but it was different with Bellamy. It had always been different with him.

Clarke smiled, an overwhelming feeling of happiness filling her as she thought of all the things Bellamy had done for her, all the ways he had supported her and shown her true friendship. But as the word "friendship" floated through her mind, she felt a hazy sense of sadness tugging gently at her heart, which she chalked up to her emotions getting jumbled from all the stress she'd been putting herself under at school and at the hospital.

* * *

"Damn, again?" Octavia asked of no one in particular when she arrived home from work that evening to find Clarke and Bellamy sleeping, once again, on the couch. She flicked the light on and let her keys clang onto the entry table. "Honey, I'm home!"

The sudden noise startled them awake and they jumped up in surprise. "Damn, O," Bellamy grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Rise and shine, big brother!" Octavia sing-songed in response. "You feeling better?" she asked Clarke with the same glint in her eyes that was always present when she found them spending any kind of time alone together.

"Good as new," Clarke chirped on her way back the hallway. "I'm gonna shower," she called, pausing to look over her shoulder. "Can I borrow a shirt, O? Laundry was at the bottom of my to-do list today."

"Yeah, I bet it was," Octavia mumbled to herself. "Help yourself."

"What, you're too good for my shirts now, princess?" Bellamy teased as he passed her to duck into his room.

"Oh, hey!" Octavia hollered at them through their closed doors. "Pizza will be here in half an hour. And we're having company."

Both doors opened simultaneously and their heads popped out in unison. "Octavia." There was a hint of dread in his voice that was mirrored in Clarke's eyes.

"It'll be fine, you guys. Clarke's all better. And I'll handle cleanup."

Two pairs of eyes rolled up to the ceiling before they closed their doors again.

* * *

The ringing doorbell prompted Bellamy to peer through the peephole in the front door. "Octavia," he grumbled then opened the door with a friendly smile.

The pizza delivery guy stood on the doorstep, holding four pizza boxes and what Bellamy could only guess was a box of wings. He was surrounded by Lincoln, Jasper, Maya, Raven, Roan, Monty, Harper, Murphy and Emori, each of whom was carrying six-packs – some beer, some wine coolers.

Octavia appeared behind Bellamy and paid the delivery guy with a generous tip. As their friends filed past them into the house, Clarke emerged from her bedroom looking fresh and happy. Only Bellamy knew that the slightly grey tint at the edges of her irises was a sign of the exhaustion that had undoubtedly played a hand in yesterday's flu.

"You alright?" he whispered by her side in the kitchen while they were taking their turn filling their plates.

She knew better than to tell him she was fine. He wouldn't have asked if he didn't already know the answer. "Just haven't gotten all my energy back. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

* * *

Even though Clarke was still recovering, an evening of fun with all of her friends was exactly what she needed – what they all needed.

After five beers and three wine coolers, Emori was the undeniably the most drunk of them all. Murphy, who'd had only one beer, bid everyone good night rather early, threw her over his shoulder and carried her down to the car. Monty and Harper each had a light buzz and spent the evening sharing their funniest stories from bartending. Maya and Jasper sat together and listened to everyone else's chatting. They were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, and were clearly having a hard time keeping their hands to themselves.

Raven and Roan stayed on opposite sides of the room all night. Their friends had taken bets on when the two would hook up. It was inevitable. Their friendship was a rollercoaster from heated arguments (Clarke loved to tell the story about the time the cops showed up at Roan's house in response to a domestic disturbance call from his neighbors, who thought Raven was going to lay Roan out.) to afternoons spent together in a comfortable companionship that was second only to Clarke and Bellamy.

When nearly everyone had gone home, Bellamy glanced over to see Octavia sound asleep on the loveseat next to Lincoln. "I'll handle cleanup," he mimicked under his breath, to which he felt Clarke giggle quietly in response beside him. When he made to stand up, her hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he turned to look at her.

"Not yet," she said and he sat back to let her snuggle into his side.

Half an hour later, Lincoln was asleep with Octavia, and Raven and Roan had snuck out. _How the Universe Works_ was playing on the television, and Bellamy's head kept lolling to the side as he fought to stay awake.

When she thought he lost the battle, Clarke extricated herself from his arm and crept into the kitchen. She had only gotten the leftovers put into the fridge before Bellamy was there. "I can do this tomorrow," he said softly.

"I thought you were asleep," she turned to him, her hand still on the fridge handle. "You're always cleaning up after us, Bell. Just wanted to return the favor for once." She started gathering the plates from the counter until his hand came down on hers.

"Go to bed, Clarke." His voice was low. She could hear his concern in the way he said her name. She let him take the plates from her and lay them in the sink.

"We can do this tomorrow?" The exhaustion was seeping out of her, and she didn't bother to try to hide it.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Tomorrow."

When she walked out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, he was standing by her bedroom door with a pair of his sweatpants and another of his tee shirts. She smiled her thanks to him and he chuckled.

"I'll do my laundry tomorrow," she promised.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The elusive lazy Saturday rolled over into the even more elusive lazy Sunday – mostly. Clarke did keep her promise and kept up a consistent rotation of her laundry. Lincoln had ended up spending the entire night, but at some point he and Octavia had at least made it off the loveseat and into her bedroom. Clarke was thankfully not scheduled to work, and Octavia took her turn calling in sick. Bellamy worked on his lecture notes for about an hour in the morning, then abandoned all work for the rest of the day.

Octavia and Lincoln stayed holed up in Octavia's bedroom all day. Six months into their relationship, Bellamy finally came to terms with it. Lincoln showed up at the house one evening to pick up Octavia for dinner. Bellamy leveled a hard stare at him, then sat him down in the living room and gave him The Talk. A few weeks later, they bonded when they chaperoned one of many girls' nights. They followed Octavia's orders that she and Clarke not be bothered, but the girls definitely felt better knowing someone was watching out for them in the sketchy dive bar they favored for their girls' nights. The four of them spent more and more time together, and somewhere along the line, Lincoln became a part of the family.

Clarke and Bellamy lounged in the living room watching The Big Bang Theory most of the day. When the sun had almost set Bellamy, sitting cross-legged on the couch, picked up his phone to check his email during a commercial break, while Clarke took the opportunity to grab her last load of laundry from the dryer.

She dropped the basket of still-warm clothes onto the recliner with an annoyed groan, and Bellamy knew that she had given up folding laundry for the day. Those clothes would undoubtedly remain in the basket, which would migrate to the corner of her room and no farther, until everything in it had been worn again.

Clarke slid to the floor in front of Bellamy, arching her back against the couch, and leaning her head back against his knee. Bellamy glanced up from his phone. Clarke's eyes were closed. The crease that showed up between her eyebrows when she was stressed had made an appearance, and the throbbing vein in the side of her neck told him that her blood pressure was elevated.

"What's wrong, Clarke?" he asked quietly as he leaned toward her. His hands slid underneath her head and began to rub at the knots in her neck and shoulders. Clarke sat up straight in response and let her head fall forward.

"Just thinking." It was barely above a whisper, but Bellamy knew her well enough to know that there was a lot more to it. He remained silent for a moment, certain that she would open up to him eventually as she always did. "My mom called me this morning."

His hands stilled for only a second before returning to their task. His thumbs massaged circles at the base of her skull before kneading the muscles down her neck and across her shoulders. Back and forth; hard and soft. He didn't ask about the phone call. He didn't need to. Abby Griffin called her daughter a grand total of once a month. They both agreed it was better that way; they hadn't been able to have any conversation that didn't lead to an argument since Clarke started college, so they were trying to give each other their space. Abby called once a month to check in; usually Clarke was able to avoid fighting, but Abby always managed to get her digs in about all of Clarke's life choices. Clarke took it like a trooper to keep the conversation civil, but it took her a couple days to recover.

Suddenly Bellamy was standing in front of Clarke, reaching down to grab her hand. She looked up at him with questioning eyes, and his only response was to tug gently on her hand and tilt his head toward the door with a grin on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

Clarke stood and let him pull her toward the front door. Within seconds, Bellamy had his boots and coat on, and Clarke had just enough time to slip her shoes on and grab her coat off the hook before he was pulling her out the door. She shoved her arms into the sleeves quickly and had to quicken her pace until she was almost running down the drive to keep up with him.

"Bell, what are you doing?" He opened the passenger door of his pickup and waited for her to hop inside before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver's side. He jammed the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway. Clarke watched him from the corner of her eye as he drove. She recognized the twinkle in his eye that rarely made an appearance lately. He was always as busy as she was, and an overwhelming amount of stress had taken hold of them both.

They were out in the country. A few minutes' drive from the suburb where they lived was all farmlands. The local farms kept the grocery stores and the college stocked with milk and fresh produce and provided hundreds of jobs to the community, most of which were filled by college students. Looking out her window, Clarke watched the fields roll past, foot-high cornstalks shriveled up in the cold and moonlight glistening on a dusting of snow that sparkled on the uneven ground.

Tugging her coat a little tighter around her, Clarke unbuckled her seatbelt and slid into the middle seat so she could rest her head on Bellamy's shoulder. She closed her eyes against the dry warmth the vents were blowing directly into her face. Sitting here with her best friend as they drove along at a leisurely pace, she was able to let go all of her stresses. All of her worries, all of her responsibilities got pushed to the back of her mind. A calmness she hadn't felt in months washed over her. As always, Bellamy knew exactly what she needed without her having to ask, and she thanked God for the hundredth time that weekend for sending her the most perfect best friend anyone could ask for.

Bellamy kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was on the girl leaning against him. He thought of the night he met a little blonde ten-year-old at a skating rink. He thought of the night he took her to her senior Homecoming dance and he started to see her as a woman instead of a girl. He thought of the nights in France during a school trip when he would sneak up to the hotel rooves with Clarke and Octavia so they could see the cities lit up under the glowing moon. He thought of the first night Clarke spent at his house as a resident rather than a guest when they fell asleep together on the couch in the wee hours of the morning after an hours-long marathon of a docuseries, which would quickly become a tradition. He thought of Abby's wedding when he would've told anyone that the beautiful Maid of Honor had definitely upstaged the bride. He thought of the night he gave her douchebag ex-boyfriend one hell of a makeover. And that's when it hit him that somewhere along the line, Clarke had become more than his little sister's best friend, more than his best friend, and more than just another part of the family.

They had been driving slow enough to begin with, but when Clarke felt Bellamy tap on the brakes, she opened her eyes just in time to see a No Trespassing sign disappear behind them as Bellamy made a right onto a dirt road between two illuminated cornfields. The truck rumbled over the bumpy road for a couple miles, until Clarke recognized her surroundings. Bellamy turned the truck in a half-circle and pulled to a stop a few yards from the riverbank.

Bellamy opened his door, and Clarke dragged her head off his shoulder so he could get out. She slid the rest of the way across the seat and hopped out after him, one of her hands clasped in his for balance. They settled on the tailgate, sitting on one of two blankets that Bellamy had grabbed from the truck bed and huddled together in the second. A quarter mile across the river at the small county airport, a Piper plane sat ready to board half a dozen people and take them to what Clarke could only imagine would be the kind of grand adventure she desperately needed.

It was almost half an hour of silence before either of them spoke.

Looking down at her boots peeking out of the blanket and hanging off the edge of the tailgate, Clarke spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the quiet serenity. "I think I'm about to be a big disappointment."

Bellamy jumped a little, completely shocked at her words. His eyes fell down to her. "What could possibly make you think that?"

"I…" she paused and then looked up at the sky, letting her head fall back heavily. Her eyes rolled over to him and she sighed. "I'm not so sure about the direction my life is going right now." Had she said this to anyone else, she would have been crushed by a reaction of silence. But this was Bellamy. Everything was different with Bellamy. She didn't wonder if maybe he hadn't heard her. She didn't worry that he had taken her comment personally. She certainly didn't fear that he was indeed already disappointed in her. She knew his warm silence was his supportive way of giving her a chance to process her thoughts until she felt ready to open up and continue.

"I think maybe… I think med school isn't right for me." Another beat of silence, then his arm curled around her and tugged her tighter into his side. She welcomed the warmth that was more than just his body heat fighting off the chill of the night air. "I want to change my major. Something in the arts."

"You're gonna have to try harder than that to make me disappointed in you, princess."

"My mom-"

"You are going to do what is right for you, and your mom can fight me about it." A small gasp escaped Clarke, and her head snapped up, fixing him with an intense stare. She had no doubts that Bellamy would support her, even if he had been disappointed, but his voice conveyed more than just support. Never had she heard him speak so firmly about anything relating to her mother.

Their eyes remained in a deadlock. The warm silence returned and settled over them. Clarke's head tipped to the side in curiosity when she couldn't recognize the look in his eyes that she'd never seen before. A thought flitted around the edges of her consciousness, but before she could grab it, the sound of a siren in the distance firmly dropped them back into reality.

"Shit," he grumbled.

In five seconds, they had communicated an entire conversation with a single look. There were three words in Clarke's eyes: run, adventure, free. Bellamy's eyes told her exactly what she was hoping for: whatever the hell you want, princess.

They jumped down and Clarke ran to the front while Bellamy tossed the blankets into the back of the bed and slammed the tailgate. They climbed into the front and again Bellamy jammed the key into the ignition. He got off the dirt road as quickly as he could, and Clarke remained buckled into her seat on the passenger side as they flew over every bump and thudded into every pothole.

A sharp right turn at the edge of the cornfield put them on an old back road that was a straight shot into the next county, and Bellamy stepped a little harder on the gas. The adrenaline started to surge through their veins as they tried to put more distance between themselves and the police. Clarke urged Bellamy faster, faster, faster. The cops put up a good fight, but once the truck crossed the county line, Clarke and Bellamy were out of their jurisdiction.

The cab of the truck was suddenly filled with a sharp peal of laughter than began to shake Clarke's entire body. The radio was blasting her favorite CD and the engine rumbled loudly in competition, but both were drowned out by Clarke's laughter.

"You're crazy as hell," he said as laughter began to overtake him as well.

He pulled into the first place they came across and cut the engine. They were at an old bar appropriately called Bootleggers. Either it was a very sketchy joint that they should avoid at all costs, or it was a hidden gem that all the locals loved and kept as a secret from strangers.

Bellamy took her coat when they walked in and hung it by the door with his. "Looks pretty decent." He didn't even try to hide the surprise in his voice.

Clarke flashed him a grin before taking his wrist and heading for the bar. Bellamy ordered a beer, which Clarke immediately turned into an order for two. She downed hers before Bellamy was halfway through his.

A cold breeze caused Clarke to turn toward the door, where a tall brunette had just walked in. Her presence commanded the attention of the room, and Clarke started when the woman locked eyes with her. Clarke was unable to look away until she faintly heard Bellamy in her ear asking for a dance.

She snapped back to reality and accepted his offer. There were a dozen other people on the dance floor. The DJ switched the tempo and Clarke suddenly found herself line dancing. Bellamy was a good sport, but it was rocky at best as it was his first time line dancing. When the first song ended, Clarke ran back to the bar and knocked back a second beer. Or perhaps it was her third.

The music switched again, this time to a newer, more upbeat song with a decidedly seductive theme. A pleasant buzz was singing through Clarke's veins. She wasn't drunk, but she was clearly tipsy enough to have no second thoughts about grinding her ass into her best friend's crotch as they danced. Bellamy's one beer had not been enough to prepare him for this. Clarke hadn't let loose like this since her twenty-first birthday, but even then she never danced with him like this. When the song ended, he guided Clarke to a barstool and excused himself to the bathroom.

It was then that the brunette slid up beside Clarke and ordered them each a shot. Clarke thanked the woman but left hers sitting on the bar.

"I'm Lexa," the woman said. Her voice was raised, but she didn't have to yell like Clarke had to. Her voice projected confidently and carried itself over the music.

"Clarke."

Lexa leaned over the bar and grabbed a pen that was sitting on a server's pad. She scribbled a phone number on Clarke's napkin. After pressing a kiss to the corner, she slid it into Clarke's hand with a wink then walked away seconds before Bellamy was back at Clarke's other side.

"Everything okay?" he asked her. She flashed him a smile and pulled him back onto the dancefloor.

Two dances in, they were interrupted by a man who bested Bellamy by two inches, fifty pounds of muscle, and an armful of tattoos. He asked Clarke to dance and that's when Clarke and Bellamy found out the man did not handle rejection well.

For the second time in his life, Bellamy punched a man for Clarke. This one was considerably larger than the last man he punched; he was considerably larger than Bellamy himself. Still, somehow Bellamy managed to make his first shot a good one. He was quick and the man fell back a couple steps, blood beginning to run out of his nose.

Bellamy's hand was trying to shake the pain from his knuckles. In an instant Clarke was in front of him, pushing against his chest. He understood immediately and took her by the hand. They ran off the dancefloor, tearing their coats off the hook on their way out the door.

They tugged their coats on as they ran across the parking lot. They tore their doors open and jumped inside. This night was getting a little out of control, and Bellamy knew there'd be hell to pay before all was said and done, but when Clarke looked at him from across the truck with a come-and-get-me grin, he threw the truck into gear and they flew down that old country road, back the way they came.

Shortly after they crossed the county line, the sirens returned, and red and blue lights flashed in the rearview. Bellamy sighed and pulled over.

The officers had Clarke and Bellamy get out and wait by the back of the truck. Bellamy looked over at Clarke, about to apologize when he was struck by how beautiful she looked with the blue lights flashing in her blonde hair and a look of freedom in her eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time. His heart was beating wildly, and he knew it wasn't from the possibility that he had landed them both in jail.

Officers Miller and Pike were not in good moods when they returned to the rear of the truck where Bellamy still stood with his eyes glued on Clarke. Officer Pike informed them that Bellamy had been driving more than double the speed limit, and Clarke's almost-drunken sassiness did not go over well. Her behavior prompted a breathalyzer and a field sobriety test, both of which Bellamy passed with flying colors. He'd kept it to one beer back at Bootleggers as he knew he'd be driving them home, and thankfully that had almost completely worked out of his system.

Regardless of his obvious sobriety, Clarke's mouth seemed unable to stop, and she began trying to sweet talk their way out of trouble. The sweet talking went over about as well as her sassing had, and they quickly found themselves locked in handcuffs and ducked into the backseat of the cruiser while the officers stood outside radioing the station. Bellamy noticed Officer Pike writing something that was undoubtedly a speeding ticket.

"Sorry," Bellamy blurted out, keeping his eyes off Clarke. Getting in trouble was not unexpected, but he definitely hadn't thought they would end up cuffed in the back of a cop car.

She laughed. Bellamy didn't know how he'd expected her to respond, but laughter definitely wasn't it. She scooted over to the middle and knocked her should against his arm. "Don't be sorry, Bell. This is exactly what I needed. Well, not _this_ per se," she referenced their current situation with a wiggle of her upper body. "But this whole evening. If anything, I'm sorry we-"

"No. Absolutely none of this is your fault."

She shrugged and leaned against him. "Sucks that we're probably in a lot of trouble, but thank you for this. I miss having wild adventures with you."

It was at that moment, sitting with his wrists cuffed behind his back in a police cruiser just before dawn on a chilly January morning, that Bellamy realized he had fallen in love with his best friend.

"Me too, princess." A wave of courage swelled through him and he leaned down to place a kiss to the top of her head. He lingered for a second, a strand of her hair tickling his cheek, but he jumped back quickly when the car door opened.

Officer Pike was noticeably perturbed while Officer Miller was clearly biting back a smile. Although Clarke's breathalyzer had been past the legal driving limit, she hadn't, in fact, been driving, and her sassiness with the cops had surprisingly been within the legal limit. Bellamy had undeniably been way over the speed limit, but he was sober and had fully cooperated with the officers' requests. The police cruiser they had outrun earlier hadn't gotten quite close enough to get any license plate information and consequently Pike and Miller were unable to prove that the speeding truck from hours ago was the same speeding truck currently parked on the side of the road.

They were released with no more than a warning and a speeding ticket that carried a very large fine. Clarke, having sobered up some while they waited in the cruiser, looked over the ticket after they had climbed back into the truck.

"I could try to sweet talk our way out of this," she teased, thinking of her blatant failure at trying to sweet talk the cops out of issuing the ticket in the first place.

A smirk played at the corner of Bellamy's lips and he chuckled.

The rest of the drive home was spent in complete silence, save for the radio playing softly. Clarke had returned to the middle seat and fallen asleep curled into his side. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, running his hand up and down her arm to keep her warm. He allowed himself a moment to let his earlier revelation really sink in. He loved Clarke. He was _in love_ with Clarke. He didn't know when it happened. He didn't know how it happened. But he found himself thinking about what it would be like to kiss her, and he knew he was in trouble.

Was he willing to risk their friendship, the most important relationship in his life aside from that with his sister? He knew he would be crushed if he lost her friendship. Not that she would stop being his friend if she didn't feel the same, but things would definitely be different. They couldn't possibly continue to be as affectionate with each other as they'd always been. Things would get awkward as they both tried to keep their connection as strong as ever, but eventually it would be too much.

But what if she _did_ feel something? Just the thought of the possibility caused a tug in his chest and once he pulled back into their drive and shifted the truck into park, he allowed himself to drop one more kiss to the top of her head before shoving all these swirling thoughts to the back of his mind.

Clarke's eyes fluttered slightly and she vaguely registered that she was being lifted out of the truck and carried bridal style into the house. "Thanks, Bell," she whispered, snaking her arms around his neck and laying her head against his shoulder.

The sun had barely risen, and he expected Octavia and Lincoln to still be asleep. But when he slipped through the front door and kicked his foot back to push it closed, the soft click was all it took to startle his sister awake from where she was dozing on the recliner that she had turned around to face the door. Her eyes snapped up to him but she stayed quiet so as not to wake Lincoln or Clarke.

Stepping lightly into Clarke's bedroom, he managed to rouse her from sleep enough to tug her coat off, then he laid her back in her bed and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. He lingered a moment, watching her sleep. He didn't dare allow himself to kiss her forehead again. He was already too far gone and feeling a little dizzy from the swarm of emotions slamming through his chest.

He considered going out to the living room and facing Octavia, but decided against it. Going straight to his room was a much better idea. Unfortunately, his sister knew him too well, and he found her waiting outside his bedroom door.

"Not now, please, O," he mumbled.

"Where have you been?" Her voice was an angry whisper. He felt bad for worrying her, but not bad enough to want to deal with it just yet. "I came out to see if you guys wanted to order pizza, and you were both gone. Which would have been bad enough in itself, but you didn't leave a note, and maybe you didn't notice, but both of your phones were sitting on the coffee table!"

He sighed, feeling rundown. "Please, O. I'm sorry, but please. I just need to go to bed."

Something in his tone flipped her emotional switch from angry woman to concerned little sister. He made to step past her into his room, but she stepped quicker and blocked his path. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just had a long night."

"Bellamy."

"Octavia, I'm fine. Will you please let me go," he begged.

"No. I've been worried sick about you two all night! The very least you can do is either explain to me where you've been or tell me what's bothering you! You know damn well that if I snuck out with Lincoln-"

Her voice pounded through his head and without his brain's consent his mouth opened to shut her up. "I'm in love with Clarke, okay?" His voice had risen in exasperation, and he prayed he hadn't woken Clarke or Lincoln.

Octavia took a step back in shock, her back meeting his bedroom door. They locked eyes in silence for a moment, and Bellamy mentally kicked himself not only for saying anything at all, but for letting this be the way Octavia found out. He had only just realized his feelings himself two hours ago and had no intentions of saying anything to anyone for quite some time.

When Octavia finally spoke, all traces of anger were gone. "I know." She reached up to lay a hand on the side of his face. "I love you, big brother, but you're kind of an idiot." There was only a tender affection for her older sibling in her voice and her eyes. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Bellamy let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and turned to lean against the wall beside Octavia. "Nothing."

"Bell-"

"O," his tone made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it, so she didn't press the matter. She just leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Well, don't wait too long, okay? It's already been too many wasted years," she gave him a knowing smile that made him suspect she had been expecting this to happen. Maybe she's known how he felt about Clarke all along. The three of them were so close, and Octavia had always been incredibly perceptive to what was going on in his mind.

Octavia returned to the living room and settled herself onto the couch with Lincoln, whose love for the raven-haired beauty showed even when he was asleep as he opened his arms to accommodate her. More than half asleep, he kissed her forehead when she was snuggled against him.

A square of white against the tan carpeting in the hallway caught Bellamy's eye before he closed his door, and he bent down to pick it up. It was a napkin, most likely from Bootleggers. The name Lexa and a phone number were scrawled across it, and a woman's red lipstick was kissed to the corner. It must have fallen out of Clarke's pocket when he was carrying her to bed.

He groaned and pressed two fingers into his eyes. "Shit," he grumbled for the second time that night.

He crept into Clarke's room and left the napkin on her nightstand. He kept his eyes off her, afraid of how his feelings would pummel him if he let his gaze fall on her blonde hair, on her peaceful smile, on her sleeping form.

Back in his room, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it into the corner of his room. He fell back onto his mattress and fought off the vision of Clarke, leaning against his truck with blue lights shining in her hair and reflecting in her eyes, that tore through his heart as he remembered the kiss-stained napkin. When sleep finally claimed him, it was fitful at best, but thankfully he didn't dream of Clarke.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Bellamy saw Monday morning come with a beautiful sunrise whose bright reds and soft purples belied what kind of day he would have. The alarm went off way too early – a mere two hours after he fell asleep. He considered cancelling his classes for the day, but the thought of being at the house when Clarke woke up quickly shut down that idea. His life was turned upside down just four hours ago when his feelings for Clarke bubbled up and slapped him in the face. As if that weren't enough for one man to try to make sense of, he was then pulled inside out when he found a napkin with a red kiss staining the corner and an artfully scrawled phone number.

He dressed in a fog. There was a solid chance that the white button down he slipped into was the same shirt he had worn to class on Friday, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was too tired and too distracted to be worried about clean clothes.

His first thought once he finished dressing was to just leave. He could swing through Dunkin Donuts for coffee and a breakfast sandwich on his way to class, but he stopped halfway to the front door and threw his head back, dragging a hand down his face. A memory of the night before drifted through his mind, reminding him that Clarke was going through a lot, and making his heart ache a little more. Every time he thought of Clarke, the kiss stained napkin popped unbidden to the front of his mind. Still, she was his best friend at the very least, and considering the shit he knew was coming her way, possibly today, once her mother found out she was quitting med school, making sure she started her day with a good breakfast was the least he could do.

There was no doubt in his mind that Clarke would not be going to class today. She had never been one to quit something she'd started, but there was a first time for everything. She had undoubtedly been struggling with deciding to drop out of med school and switch her major to smething in an entirely different ballpark for quite some time. He knew she would've debated both sides with herself many times, and he was certain that somewhere in her room there were pro/con lists for staying in med school and majoring in art. She would've put a lot of thought and consideration into the matter, as she did with everything in her life, and for that reason alone Bellamy always trusted and supported Clarke's decisions.

In the kitchen, Bellamy quietly threw together a small French toast casserole and stuck it into the fridge with a sheet of aluminum foil covering it. Standing in front of the refrigerator, he scribbled a sticky note for Clarke.

"You okay?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to see his sister leaning in the doorway. She was tugging a light hoodie over her head. He was tempted to tell her that the unseasonably warm weather forecasted for the day would doubtlessly get her sick if she didn't dress properly, but he was reminded once again that she was a grown woman. "I'm good." He tried to charm her into believing him with a semi-forced smile.

She nodded, accepting that he didn't want to talk about it. "Then tell your face. You look like you're constipated." Her snarky comment brought a grin to his face, and she was happy. She brushed past him to grab a Pop-Tart from the cupboard, then headed back for the front door. "Might wanna try some Dulcolax for that," she said over her shoulder as she rounded the corner. When she heard him chuckle, she smiled to herself and slipped out the front door.

* * *

Clarke woke up just before noon. She was thankful she hadn't been drunk and subsequently was free of a hangover. She was, however, still exhausted from her night-long adventure with Bellamy. The last thing she remembered clearly was snuggling up to him in the cab of his truck while he drove them home, but she had a very fuzzy memory of him carrying her to bed. A smile played at the corners of her lips as scenes from last night danced through her mind. No one in the world had a best friend nearly as good as hers, and she would fight anyone who thought any differently.

She groaned through a stretch before sitting up. Her toes barely brushed the shag carpet that had tickled her toes every morning since the day her eighteen year old self officially moved into this room that had unofficially become hers just weeks after her ten year old self had met the Blakes.

Taking note of the time, she realized she had completely missed her first class of the day, and her second class was nearly over. Not that it mattered, she figured, as she no longer considered herself a med student.

The first thing she noticed when she walked into the bathroom was that it didn't smell like Bellamy. The woodsy scents of his soap and shampoo greeted her every morning as he was always the second one in the bathroom, followed, of course, by Clarke herself.

The morning routine in the Blake household had been perfected down to a science. Octavia, surprisingly, woke first – even before the sun. She spread out in the living room to do some yoga, and when the weather was nice she went for a run. By the time she finished showering, Bellamy was up, and they exchanged good mornings as they passed each other in the bathroom doorway – Octavia bright and chipper, Bellamy grumbly and half-asleep. Bellamy spent more time in the bathroom than both girls combined – a mystery neither Clarke nor Octavia cared to solve. When Bellamy finally emerged from the bathroom once the sun was shining bright through the window blinds, Clarke was stumbling out of her bedroom and trying to make it to a hot shower without opening her eyes. More often than not Bellamy gently redirected her to save her face from meeting the corner of the doorframe. Clarke showered last because she stood under the water for a solid ten minutes trying to wake up before she even picked up the bar of soap.

And so when her nose was assaulted by the many aromas of Octavia's overwhelming beauty regimen that had been stewing in the warm bathroom for hours, she knew that Bellamy hadn't had time to shower. She felt a little selfish; she hadn't even thought about today being Monday. She should have let him take her home the first time they heard the police sirens. She felt selfish, but she couldn't bring herself to feel bad. She truly needed last night. It was almost therapeutic, as wild as it had been.

* * *

The rain hammered against the windows of Bellamy's classroom. The unseasonably warm temperatures that had caused Octavia to abandon her winter coat that morning had brought rain to the area. Bellamy's voice was completely drowned out. He was exhausted, his mind was all over the place, and as usual his students weren't even listening to his lecture. Giving up, he dismissed class ten minutes early and retreated to his office.

It was much quieter in his office. The inner room lacked windows, for which Bellamy was thankful this once. He slumped down into the beat up old chair behind his beat up old desk and squeezed his eyes shut against the barrage of emotions he'd been ignoring all day. It was just his luck that he would not only fall in love with his best friend – his sister's best friend, but he would realize it too late. Octavia was right. Too many years had already been wasted. But even if he had been ready and able to admit his feelings to Clarke right away, he knew he had to wait and see what would happen with this woman Clarke met. He was nothing if not a gentleman after all.

"Honestly, this weather is out of control." A grumble broke through the silence of the room accompanied by the aroma of greasy takeout.

"Should've worn your coat."

"And you should've tried that Dulcolax I recommended."

Bellamy chuckled and finally looked up to see his charming sister standing in front of his desk with rain dripping from her hair and two bags from Coney Island that, between the rain outside and grease inside, were barely hanging on to life. The sight would almost be comical, if her eyes weren't so angry.

"Yes," he surrendered. "Yes, you're absolutely right, O. First thing when I get home." A finger crossed his heart and an affectionate smile played across his face. He grabbed his sweatshirt off the back of his chair and tossed it at her. "But, you know, an umbrella probably wouldn't have been a bad idea, either," he teased.

She threw a murderous glare at him as she dropped the sopping wet takeout bags on his desk. "Your loving sister walks through a monsoon to surprise you with lunch when you're having a rough day, and snarky backtalk is how you repay her?" She peeled her wet hoodie off and traded it for Bellamy's dry one.

"My nosey sister walked through a little rain to surprise me with lunch because she smelled an opportunity to play matchmaker and wants to gossip about my night."

Octavia shrugged, taking an unladylike bite from her hot dog. No point arguing the truth. "So?" she prompted.

"I'm having a splendid day, thanks for asking. Shall we engage in small talk about the weather?" He knew the Clarke conversation was unavoidable. Having grown up with Clarke and Octavia and then practically raising them, Bellamy was a sucker for their charms. He was almost literally wrapped around their fingers, and what his girls wanted, his girls almost always got. In this case, Octavia clearly wanted to talk about Clarke.

"Really, we're back to the weather? Bellamy Blake, you better watch yourself. You never know when someone will slip a little Dulcolax into your food."

"Dulcolax again? What, are they sponsoring your snide comments now?"

"Says the man who thinks spouting irrelevant facts he learned on a docuseries is entertaining party talk."

"And it entertains our friends into suggesting we hang out at one of their houses, thus getting me out of cleaning up." He half-shrugged as he reached for a napkin to wipe some cheese sauce from his chin.

"Sneaky."

"Ingenious."

"Clarke."

"There's no way I'm getting out of this conversation, is there?"

"No. But you could delay it a little bit by telling me where you went last night."

Bellamy slouched back into his chair with a sigh. He rubbed his hands down his face, then took a deep breath.

* * *

Clarke dressed in her favorite jeans after her shower. She passed up the sweater she had initially planned on wearing and slipped into a faded tee shirt Bellamy had gotten her for Christmas six years ago. The hem was beginning to fray and there was a tiny hole by the seam on her left side, but it was her favorite shirt.

Octavia had given her a 'best friends' necklace straight out of the nineties, and Bellamy insisted that she have a symbol of their friendship too. After many hours of online shopping he found the perfect gift. The tee shirt was black (her favorite color, although ninety percent of her wardrobe was black and could probably have used a little color), and gold nerdy glasses were screen printed above the words "talk nerdy to me". He eventually admitted to her that it took him a good five minutes to stop laughing long enough to order the shirt.

That was kind of their thing – nerdy talk. They would sit for hours, Clarke talking science, Bellamy talking mythology. Sometimes, to mix things up, Clarke would preach about art, or Bellamy would regale her with stories from history. She had never admitted it to anyone, but listening to Bellamy lecture on and on about mythology and history was one of her favorite things to do.

She went straight for the coffee pot and pressed the on button. She didn't have to check to know that Bellamy had gotten it ready for her, same as every morning. Reaching into the cupboard for a mug, she did a double take as a yellow sticky note on the coffee pot finally caught her eye.

 _Breakfast is in the fridge. 350 for 30 minutes. Yes, I know you're hungry now. Enjoy a cup of coffee and fill out the Change of Major paperwork. Fajitas for dinner? Bell_

Smiling to herself and once again thanking God for such a wonderful best friend, she slid the casserole dish into the oven and headed back to her bedroom. The small stack of forms she had to fill out was sitting on the corner of her nightstand underneath the napkin Lexa had scribbled her phone number on the night before. She stared at it the whole way back down the hall and into the living room, debating whether or not to text her. Lexa had been beautiful and very clearly interested in her, but something Clarke couldn't quite put her finger on was trying to hold her back.

 _Sorry we didn't get to dance last night._

The reply came almost immediately. _Guess you owe me. Pick you up 6:00 Friday night?_

Clarke sent Lexa her address with the thumbs-up emoji. A giddy, tummy-butterflies feeling was bubbling up in her, but whatever it was that didn't want her to text Lexa was poking at the edges of her excitement. She settled for ignoring both feelings and focusing on the paperwork for school, halfway through which she decided to take the rest of the semester off and pick up with one or two classes in the summer.

She'd keep her job at the hospital if they'd let her, but otherwise the downtime she afforded herself by giving up school for a few months would be good for her. With Bellamy and Octavia both away during the day, she would have plenty of time to work on herself. Med school not being a good fit for her wasn't the only revelation she'd had lately.

Too much of her time was dedicated to work, and while her relationships with Bellamy and Octavia were as strong as ever, she knew that was mostly due to the fact that she lived with them. She barely saw her other friends. The next few months would be all about getting her life back on track – destressing, refocusing, spending more time with her friends. And maybe even trying to fix things with her mother, which would undoubtedly get worse when she told Abby she'd quit med school.

* * *

"You got her arrested?!" The French fry dropped out of Octavia's fingers half an inch from her mouth and splattered cheese sauce everywhere when it hit the desk.

"We didn't get arrested, technically," Bellamy argued. _Close,_ he added mentally. But to be fair, it _was_ a close call. They had literally been sitting in the back seat of a police cruiser with their hands cuffed behind their backs.

"You seriously wanna get technical right now?"

Bellamy raised his hands defensively. "Okay, you win this one. I let things get a little out of control last night."

His defeated tone caused Octavia to deflate. Scolding him wouldn't help. "Bell," she started, softer this time. "What happens now?"

"Nothing happens." He finished the last bite of his hot dog and made a show of wiping his hands on a napkin, as if trying to symbolize that not only the discussion, but also the whole situation with his feelings for Clarke was a dead end.

"It doesn't work like that."

"Yes, it does."

"No. No, it doesn't. What, you're just gonna ignore how you feel? How's that gonna work when she runs out of clean clothes again and asks to borrow your sweats? It won't affect you at all to see her wearing your clothes? And you're just going to pretend you're happy for her when she goes out with Lexa – because you know she's going to – and wants to come home and tell her best friend all about it?"

He had enough time to cut her off with one sentence before she continued preaching at him. "She typically saves the girl talk for you."

"Ah, but you'll know what she's telling me, won't you? 'She's so beautiful, O.' 'We literally danced until they shut the bar down.' 'I've never been kissed like-'"

"Enough, O!" He couldn't remember the last time he raised his voice at her. He instantly felt bad about it but when he looked up, she was grinning at him. "What?" The exasperation was clear in his tone. "What could you possibly be grinning about?"

"Proved my point. You finished with this?" She snatched his last fry and let the subject drop. He was tempted to argue with her, but there was no point. They both knew she was right, not that it changed anything. He still had no intention of saying anything to Clarke, and consequently he would have to pretend he was happy about whatever would transpire between her and Lexa.

* * *

Dinner that evening was tense, to say the least. As a surprise, Clarke had invited Lincoln over for dinner and had cooked and set everything on the table moments before her two favorite people got home. Fajitas, as Bellamy had suggested, and as a side, the Mexican Street Corn Salad that Octavia loved. Lincoln arrived only minutes after the Blakes, and they all settled around the table to eat.

Bellamy was thankful that Octavia commanded most of the conversation. She droned on about every single detail of her day, minus her lunch conversation with Bellamy, and when she couldn't think of anything else to blabber on about, asked Lincoln how his day was. Lincoln, having been warned by Octavia that he should talk a lot if he knew what was good for him, recounted the highlights of his day, with a few older work stories thrown in to take up more time.

When Bellamy excused himself to the kitchen to pull out a tub of ice cream for dessert, he was unsurprised that Clarke followed.

"You okay?" She lined four bowls along the counter next to him and began gathering spoons, keeping her eyes trained on the task.

If nothing else, he was an expert at reading between her lines. 'Why aren't you talking to me?' was what she was really asking, so he changed the conversation before she had the chance to open that can of worms. "Exhausted. Always sucks going back after a long weekend. You get that paperwork filled out?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did." She took the ice cream out of his hands and began to scoop it into the bowls. It was her turn to deflect, but Bellamy wasn't letting it go that easily.

"Clarke?" he prompted.

"I'm taking the rest of the semester off," she said quietly. "I'll go back in the summer, I promise. But I think I need to focus on myself for a little bit." A glob of ice cream fell off the scoop and landed on the floor and she let the scoop clang onto the counter in frustration. "I haven't been…myself," her voice broke on the last word as a traitorous tear threatened to spill and Bellamy reacted in an instant, pulling her into his arms.

This was insane. She couldn't figure out what was going on with her. Sure, things were a little crazy, but her life was still going in a good direction. She'd finally gotten the nerve to drop out of med school and sign up for an arts major. She planned to start working on the relationships she had with everyone in her life – including her mother. Hell, she was even willing to try meditating with Octavia during her morning yoga. She had an upcoming date with a beautiful woman. And most importantly, she knew that in all of this, she had the love and support of her best friends.

She _was_ happy. So why was she crying in the middle of her kitchen?

* * *

The week flew by, and Friday was upon them before they knew it. Bellamy was stretched out on top of his bed, attempting to read over his students' latest assignment. It had been a rough week, but he had survived. The girls were in their rooms, getting ready for a night out; if he could ignore the fact that Clarke was going on a date, he would almost be happy about the prospect of having the house to himself for an evening. Except he _couldn't_ ignore the fact that Clarke was going on a date.

At 5:00 the chime of the doorbell announced Lincoln's arrival.

"Bell?" Octavia called from her room across the hall.

"Yeah, I got it!" He was already halfway down the hall. If there was one thing Octavia struggled with it was being on time for anything. He knew this, and Lincoln knew this, and that's why they always told Octavia she needed to be ready at least half an hour earlier than necessary. Bellamy offered Lincoln a beer and they headed to the living room to watch TV while they waited for Octavia.

The girls, meanwhile, were in Octavia's bedroom. Clarke stood behind Octavia, who was seated at her vanity. Clarke's fingers deftly wound through Octavia's long locks, tying off a braid along her left side and twisting it into a loose bun.

"So tell me about Lexa," Octavia requested.

"There's not much to tell yet. I only spoke to her for, like, a minute." Clarke shrugged. "She's beautiful. And her voice is kind of…captivating."

"Hmm." Octavia's brows pulled together. "Do you remember when we were sixteen, and I used to joke about how you'd end up marrying my brother one day?" Octavia was testing the waters, to gauge Clarke's reaction, but she didn't have any idea where she would take the conversation from there.

Clarke's fingers stilled instantly, causing the hair tie to snap back against her finger. "Shit," she grumbled and shook her hand against the pain. "What about it?"

"I don't know," Octavia smiled approvingly at her reflection in the mirror. "I was just thinking about the time you told me you thought Bellamy's stories about Greek gods and goddesses were captivating." She stood and adjusted the black dress that barely kissed her knees. "Damn, I'm going to freeze," she complained in an attempt to change the subject.

"I told you that before you even put the thing on."

"Yes, well, perhaps this dress will do its job and get me back to Lincoln's place before dinner." She wiggled her eyebrows, and a sly grin pulled at her lips, causing Clarke to laugh.

"Maybe you won't even make it that far," Clarke played along.

"Too cold for car sex," Octavia said seriously. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before breaking out in a fit of giggles. "Okay, seriously though," she gasped out as she started to settle down. "Have fun tonight, yeah? But if you need to get out of there, don't hesitate to send your SOS text…to Bellamy." She winked, and then they were both laughing again.

Clarke leaned against the wall at the end of the hall and coughed dramatically to get Lincoln's attention. The man turned around quickly and whistled lowly at the sight of his girlfriend.

"Seriously, man? That's my sister." Bellamy tried to sound angry, but the best he could manage was feigned annoyance. Lincoln was the first, and honestly the only, of Octavia's boyfriends that he actually liked. He would even go so far as to say he considered them to be not just friends, but practically family. Lincoln and Octavia had been together for just over three years – Bellamy had no doubts that Lincoln would officially become part of the family soon enough.

"You mind your business, Bellamy Blake," Clarke said with a laugh.

Lincoln held his arm out to Octavia and led her through the front door. "Have fun, Clarke!" Octavia called from beside Lincoln's car. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She winked and slid into the front seat.

Clarke walked back into the living room and plopped down onto the couch beside Bellamy. "Admit it: you love him," she teased.

"Not quite," he looked over at her with a grin. They both knew he was full of shit.

"She really loves him, you know. I think he's here for the long haul."

He nodded, then looked toward the front window. "Clarke, if he were to, hypothetically, express an interest in getting married-"

Clarke cut him off with a sharp gasp. "Did he?"

"No. Not yet. But it's been three years now. It's just a matter of time." Clarke hummed in agreement and laid her hand on his knee in encouragement. "I just…I want your opinion." He looked over at her with eyes full of sadness. Clarke knew he wasn't ready to accept that his sister would eventually get married and not need him as much anymore. "I have Mom's engagement ring." His voice was soft. Even after all these years, he still fought tears whenever the subject of his mother came up. Clarke rested her head against his shoulder. "I thought that maybe, if Lincoln says anything to me about it… Maybe I would give him Mom's ring. If he wanted to use it."

"I think that's beautiful, Bell. Octavia would love it." She flashed him a brilliant smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You really are a great big brother." She patted his knee before standing up to go finish getting ready.

He sat on the couch, filling his mind with white noise so he wouldn't start to wonder whether she was referring to only Octavia or if she was including herself in the little sister category.

* * *

Bellamy sat at the desk in the corner of his room, attempting to grade some more assignments. After reading the same sentence a dozen times, he slammed the papers down on the desk in frustration. Focusing on The Titanomachy was nearly impossible with the vision of Clarke constantly creeping into his mind.

When Lexa arrived to pick up Clarke, Bellamy had hovered in the hallway, greeting Lexa with what he hoped would pass as a friendly nod. He tried not to notice Clarke's blonde hair with streaks of crimson peeking through that she had pulled back into a French braid. He ignored the black leggings, with faux leather strips up the sides, that hugged the curves of her hips. And he definitely didn't notice the low-cut ripped band tee that was pulled tight over her chest.

The harder he tried not to think about it, the clearer the vision became. _You're so beyond fucked, Blake_ , he thought.

* * *

Clarke returned home just before midnight to find Bellamy on the couch, wrapped up in Grandma Blake's blanket, and his right arm hanging off the side of the couch with an almost full bottle of beer sitting on the floor half an inch underneath his fingers. Netflix was on the television, self-paused between episodes asking if he was still watching, and Clarke simply pressed the red power button on the remote. (The next morning, when he flipped the TV back on to see that same screen, he would thank God that Clarke hadn't answered the question to find out that he had been watching _Gilmore Girls_.)

She considered waking him up and sending him to bed, but he looked so peaceful and content, she just couldn't bring herself to disturb him. She bent down to kiss his forehead, for reasons that escaped her. She'd only ever kissed his cheek, and only when he was awake. Still, the sight of him passed out on the couch, nerdy glasses sitting low on his nose and Grandma Blake's blanket tangled all around him, gave her an overwhelming urge to press a sweet kiss to his forehead. It felt so intimate, and yet strangely right.

"Sweet dreams, Bell," she whispered.


End file.
